


Double Happiness

by theleaveswant



Category: Kill Bill (Movies), The Losers (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bad Puns, Clothed Sex, Crossover, F/M, Fight Sex, Japan, Multiple Orgasms, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn Battle, Rough Sex, Table Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2018-01-12 07:50:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theleaveswant/pseuds/theleaveswant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Losers go to Tokyo to ask a favour; O-ren collects some favours in return.</p><p>Written for Porn Battle XV (The Ides of Porn). Prompt was for "Any character played by Idris Elba/any character played by Lucy Liu", "challenge", "command", "investigate", "loyalty", "smile", "taste".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Double Happiness

**Author's Note:**

> AU: divergence from both canons; the Deadly Viper Assassination Squad never found Beatrix Kiddo and Roque never tried to sell his team out to Max; timelines wiggled so movies line up closer than release dates would indicate.
> 
> There's a very good chance that I've fucked up something(s) related to Japanese or Chinese culture in this fic; if so and if there's any way I can fix it, please let me know. I've tried not to get gross-fetishy in that regard but it's sort of built into the source material; again, if there's any way I can fix it I want to try.

“You want me to give you Max.” It’s not exactly a question, the way the Yakuza queen says it.

Roque’s watching her but can see Clay in his peripheral vision, tipping his head politely. “If you can do that, that’d be great. All we came here to ask, though, is that you stop doing business with him.”

The queen—whose name, by the by, is O-ren Ishii, and no, Aisha will not tell you how they know each other—raises an immaculate eyebrow. “Whatever will he do, when you take away all his friends?”

Clay just smiles. Ishii shares a look with Aisha, so full of meaning it’s spilling over, running down the sides, then gives the smallest nod. 

“I’ll present it to the council.” A slight twitch of one finger, clear as any drill sergeant yelling ‘dismissed!’. 

The woman to the queen’s left, the one Aisha said is her lawyer, rises from knees to feet with the ease of long practice. The supplicants all follow suit, with varying but mostly lesser degrees of grace. 

Jensen’s excited, and Cougar and Pooch are indulgent, about the prospect of hitting an authentic Tokyo karaoke bar with some of the friendlier members of their host’s private army. That invitation turned out to be all it took for Jensen to forgive the Crazy Eighty-eight for having, in his oft-repeated words, “ _Such_ a cool name; Clay, why don’t we have a cool name like that? Jerks.”

Roque catches Aisha catching Clay returning an inquisitive look from their host’s very young-looking bodyguard, and is just close enough to hear her scold him—“That is a _record-breakingly_ bad idea”—though her lips stay ventriloquist-still. Clay rolls his eyes and Roque snorts a laugh—then freezes, because the boss of bosses of the Japanese underworld is staring right at him.

Clay, to his credit, pings to her scrutiny almost as fast as Roque does, and hangs back in the room at his side. Another silent exchange between Ishii and Aisha, though, and Aisha’s tugging on Clay’s sleeve and whispering, “Come on.”

“Roque?” Clay asks, uncurling Aisha’s fingers from his arm.

“S’cool,” Roque says. “I got this.”

Aisha closes the sliding door behind her, and Roque is alone with O-ren Ishii.

“Come closer,” she says, so he does. One hand gestures gracefully to the seat cushion on the corner, nearest her position at the head of the table, before settling again in her lap. “Sit.”

Roque kneels down, as before, sitting back on his heels. 

She smiles, sardonically but for the first time that Roque has seen since she greeted Aisha, before they sat down to business. “Your colleague seems very devoted to his mission.”

Roque shrugs.

“I know how compelling the single-minded pursuit of vengeance can be, but do you have any plans for what comes after?”

She doesn’t look up when the door slides open again, but Roque does. A server glides in with a carafe and two cups on a wooden tray, bows deeply, and exits just as quietly.

“I figure I’ll burn that bridge when I get to it.” He holds his cup lightly with both hands while she fills it with sake, then sets it down and pours for her. He makes sure to keep the rim of his cup lower than hers when they toast, and turns his face slightly away to sip it. He doesn’t know much about sake beyond the etiquette for drinking it but this tastes expensive, or at least good enough to be served at room temperature. She nods approval of his manners, and licks her lips deliberately when she lowers her cup. 

“Looks like you’re doing all right for yourself.”

Ishii tips her head to one side. “The job has its perks.”

“Why Eighty-eight?” Roque asks, and takes another sip.

“Excuse me?”

He waves his hand at the door the others left through. “Why not the Ninety-nine or, I don’t know, the Eighty-sixes or something?”

She looks down at the table. “Call it sentimentality for the Chinese side of my family.”

“What, double happiness?” That gets him a look and another sharp little smile. “Setting the bar a little low, don’t you think?” Both her eyebrows climb and Roque ducks his head modestly. “Mind you, eighty-eight is getting a touch ambitious . . .”

“I believe that would depend on the timeframe.” She stares at him a little longer, until she appears to come to some sort of decision. Then she stands and steps onto the table, lifting her hem neatly to avoid disturbing the sake as she walks past him down the middle of the long glass sheet. “Come on.”

Roque keeps looking perplexed, even as he gets back to his feet and joins her on the table. The glass is slippery underneath his socks, and he’s considering bending over to take them off when Ishii strikes. 

She kicks his right knee out from under him and he falls, catching himself with his right hand and using the position to kick with his left foot at her midsection. She dodges, grabs his foot, and twists as she pulls, and Roque winds up sprawled face down on the glass surface of the table for long enough to replace the breath the fall knocked from his lungs. 

He’d have expected the heavy folds of her . . . whatever she’s wearing, he wants to call it a kimono but that might not be correct, traditional Japanese women’s fashion is not an area where he’s worked to expand his vocabulary, to impede her movement, but she’s apparently trained to counteract that. A blur of reflected color on the glass beside his face is all the warning Roque gets that she’s coming down on him between the shoulderblades, and that’s barely enough for him to flip over on his back.

He catches her wrists and forces her arms apart, and she drops to straddle his hips. “My, my, Mr. Roque,” she purrs, sounding just the slightest bit out of breath. “Is that a knife in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”

Roque blinks up at her, tries to look innocent. “Hey, I checked all my weapons at the door. Promise.”

There it is again, the reason raised eyebrows get called ‘arched’.

“Well,” he concedes, “most of them, anyway.” He lets go of her wrists, wary, no confidence that she won’t just attack again.

Which she does, but in a different sort of way, yanking him up by the front of his shirt to kiss him. He goes with it, spreading both hands on her on her ribs above that big bustle-bow thing at the back of her belt. She bites his lips harder than he likes and he digs his fingers into her back, presses in, tries to squeeze the air from her lungs until she lets up enough to gasp.

He has no real idea what, if anything, she’s got on under that robe, and it doesn’t look like he’s about to find out because she makes no move to strip, just sticks a hand between their bodies and starts tugging at his belt, his fly. She’s got fighter’s callouses, but not a pattern that he’s used to, and her hand feels fantastic as it measures out his cock. 

Then it’s his job to keep sitting upright, keep kissing the exposed skin of her neck and jaw, while Ishii lets go of his shirt to slide her other hand down to help. She’s got a condom from somewhere, he’s not sure where, maybe stashed inside one of her sleeves, and she’s smoothing it down over him without looking.

She shoves him back down onto the tabletop hard and sudden enough that he only narrowly avoids smacking the back of his head, and with a hitch of her hips and a guiding hand she starts sinking onto him. She takes it slow, slow enough that he knows she’s teasing and he has to laugh because it’s that or do something he’ll probably regret. Eventually, though, she starts to really ride him, and that is so, so worth it.

She’s still got a hand between her legs, fingers working her clit while she rocks up and back on his dick, and Roque wouldn’t mind letting Ishii use him how she wants, just a dildo with a pulse, except he feels this nagging urge to impress her. She lets him displace her fingers with his thumb, finds the spot she was working and presses in. It takes a little experimentation to find an effective pattern but when he does he knows it, from her gasp and the shift in her rhythm and the narrow-eyed glare she gives him, threatening to kill him if he stops. Roque grins and presses harder.

Her whole body tenses when she comes, back stiffening even straighter than the regal posture enforced by her attire, and her pelvic muscles clench so hard it almost hurts. After that there’s a moment of perfect languidity, her head dropping forward over her chest, wisps of hair falling loose from the knot at the back of her skull to float around her face. Then she starts to move again.

Roque’s happy to keep going but he’s not sure how much longer his back is going to forgive him for mashing it into a glass table, and starts judging the force it will take to roll them over onto the cushions ringing the table’s edge. He’s a little surprised that she lets him, that she hikes her thighs up higher around his waist and curls her hips up off the floor, inviting him to fuck her deeper. It’s an invitation he can’t imagine turning down.

She’s making noises now, hissing and cursing, her fingers clutching at his arms as she goads him on, her heels like spurs in his flanks. This time when she comes her back arches up off the floor so far even her shoulders are barely touching it.

Roque gives her a moment and then starts to speed up, figuring that it’s his turn now, but she kicks him in the upper thigh, right below the crease of his hip socket, and pushes him out and away from her. He sits up, frowning. He’s not sure what he’s done wrong.

“That’s two,” she tells him with a hazy smirk, and throws her skirts open, giving Roque his first look at the slick pussy he’s been fucking. 

Roque’s mouth curls into a crooked smile and he nods, accepting her dare, and lowers himself onto his elbows between her legs.


End file.
